


A Day 2 Play

by TheEveOfLilith



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEveOfLilith/pseuds/TheEveOfLilith
Summary: There is nothing better than a shower and a good nights sleep after a challenging match....Or is there?





	A Day 2 Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blur_Vision](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blur_Vision/gifts).



> An old fanfic I wrote for my BFF ages ago. Enjoy :)

As the elevator door closed, he has, for the first time that day, found himself in an absolute silence. He lowered his right hand, formerly risen in the last waving move, and let the corners of his mouth fall, finally being allowed to feel the exhaustion he had suppressed the whole day. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh and leaned himself on the cold iron wall of the hotel elevator. Even through his firmly locked eyelids he could feel the piercing flashings of light, flowing into the iron cabin, as it passed through the levels. Yet, he was still so weary he was afraid, that he would fall asleep before he even reaches the right floor. After having spent the whole day on ice, playing a rough decider and listening to a full arena of shouting and screaming fans, the quiet pleasant melody of the air fighting the moving cabin was making him strangely drowsy.

His lashes fluttered in the last attempt to stay awake, but the tiredness was way too hard to fight for him right now. Another silent breath left his lips, as he slowly started sinking into a slumber. The steel wall was too tough and freezing to be comfy, but it still was something he could rest on. His head fell to his shoulder as he was losing more and more of his consciousness. A chaotically colourful dream started quivering on the insides of his eyelids, making the bright flashes of light from the outside fade. He was just about to snore, when he was remorselessly awakened in a complete horror by a single cling of the elevator bell. His head sprang up, eyes opened wide, hands tightly clenched to the cold metal wall behind his suddenly straightened back. A pleasant female voice announced the number of the floor. Most likely. It talked Russian after all, so he couldn’t really tell.

The doors started opening slowly, letting the corridor lights in the cabin. Sudden blinding brightness was like a punch to the face. He was dazzled for a few seconds, as his sleepy eyes tried to adapt to the unexpected amount of lamplight. As he walked out of the iron cabin, roaming through the long passage, he fumbled in his pockets searching for the keys of his room. He faintly remembered it was number 3049. When he was first told that the cup shall be held in Russia, he was seriously worried, that Russians didn’t use the Arabic numerals. Well, he knew, that they used a different set of characters for writing, so it was just natural for him to suspect, that it could be the same for the numbers. Later, when he had shared his worries with his team mates, he was mocked and laughed at by all of them. He has still been a little grumpy at the thought on the humiliation he felt then. Yes, he was young. One of the youngest amongst them, in fact. But why did it have to be a reason for the others to make fun of him all the time? Why did it have to be a reason to give him the room just in the furthest end of the rented hotel floor?

He inserted the key into the keyhole and unlocked the door. It was quite nostalgic feeling for him; he was already used to using cards with chips to unlock so much, that he couldn’t even recall the last time he got an actual metal key, though it was a calming feeling indeed, to hear the lock rustling while unlocking.

As the door opened to a pleasant greyness, his lips released a relieved sigh. He entered the darkened room, pacing to a broad bed. It took most of his restraint not to fall right into the tempting snow-white sheets. Today, his team has played one of the most important matches of the year. Yeah, they didn’t go to Russia for holiday. They were here to decide, whether they win the league or not, actually. It was an exciting challenge, a great chance they couldn’t just throw away. So, they fought; they fought as determinedly as if their lives depended on that single match. Hot sweat ran down their faces and drenched their jerseys. Their muscles were clenching painfully, as they hurried on the other side of the field again and again. Their hearts were rushing in a rapid pace, barely being satisfied by the insufficient amount of oxygen running to the veins. Putting all of their fighting rage to the game, they were squeezing their hockey sticks as if they held weapons.

His heartbeat has quickened just at the thought of today’s game. It was extraordinary. It was tough. And despite that, they were able to win. An ecstatic wave ran through his spine and woke up his drained body. He decided to take a shower to calm himself down. Yeah, he definitely needed a long hot shower. He turned his back to the inviting bed, flinging off his clothes on the way to the door where he knew was a bathroom. As he walked in, he had nothing on but his boxers.

The gleaming tub looked temptingly nice, so he harassed with a thought of taking a bath instead for a few seconds, but in the end, he dismissed it. He was still too sleepy. In his current condition he would most likely fall asleep in the hot water right away, and then, in the morning, he would be found by some poor chambermaid, all blue and naked, drowned in cold dirty water. Yes, yes, shower would be better without a doubt; at least for now.

He threw away even the last piece of his clothing and stood into the tub. As the hot water was streaming down his shoulders, he found himself oddly enough more and more awake. To make things worse he started feeling his strained muscles twitching, reflecting the difficult match he has gone through today. When he was drying himself with a soft towel, he was unfortunately completely awake. Probably one of the side effects of the time shift, he thought bitterly, as he changed to his pyjamas, which consisted of nothing more than closely fit black shorts. He scowled at himself in the mirror, as he ruffled his dishevelled hair, before leaving the bathroom and landing in silky bedding.

After a few minutes of dreamless staring at the ceiling, he found himself in a completely pissed off state. Why did he have to feel so strangely energized all of a sudden? Shouldn’t a hot shower make him even sleepier, than he’s been before?

He mumbled a few quiet curses as he immersed in the tender sheets. Though he has just had a shower, his feet were already cold as ice. He has been suffering from frozen feet since childhood. Warm blankets felt incredibly comfortable, even though his worn-out calves still twitched in spasms from time to time.

His legs were just becoming a little bit warmer, as he faintly heard a knock on the door. He hoped it was just his imagination, and he wouldn’t have to leave his nicely heated sheeting, but in a short time the knocking repeated. He sighed, annoyed, knowing he would have to get up and open the damned door. It could have been no one but one of his teammates. And he was sure they wouldn’t disturb him in the middle of the night after such a tough match, unless it was absolutely necessary. Still, he was pretty pissed. He let his body slip off from under his heavenly warm blankets and paced to the door.

“Hey, mate.” Saluted the intruder with a rude smile, as soon as the door opened.

“Hey. You need somethin’?” Asked the one in the doorframe irritatedly.

“Not really.” Grinned the other, as he let himself in. An outburst of words followed instantly.

“Hey, what _is_ this? That’s not fair, mate! My room is twice smaller than yours!” Complained the disrupter with a wannabe blaming voice. “And look at the _huge_ bed! You can’t be serious!” The resident of the room started feeling a bit annoyed by the other’s cheerful chattering.

“Shut up and get out. All rooms are the same. Do not think you can mock me that easily.”

“A bit sulky, aren’t we?” cooed the older man with a tauting expression. But his face changed quickly into an earnest look. “What about a foot massage? Today was a bit tiresome after all.” Offered he finally. The younger gave his opponent a suspicious look.

“I mean it mate.” Whispered the visitor wearily. “Let me stay here for a while.” The younger one pursed his lips in muse for a few seconds, frowning a little, as he was considering all possible pros and cons of his yet to come decision.

“Don’t think so much, or your head might explode.” Laughed the older. “Just lie down on the bed and let me do my best down there.” Winked he ambiguously. Blood rushed quickly into the younger one’s cheeks. He was too agitated to even respond to the former offense.

“Shut up, you perv!” Hissed he embarrassedly. “Not here!”

“Oh, yes.” Insisted the visitor. “ _Right_ here and _right_ now. Can’t wait anymore, ya know.” Whispered he, as he smelled his partner’s hair wistfully.

“Hey! Let me-” Suddenly, the younger was silenced by a hot kiss, landing right on his dry lips. He broke away immediately.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Making my loved one feel good?” Answered the other briskly, making the enquirer flush even more. “You played well today, by the way.” His finger lightly touched his team mate’s cheek.

“Thanks.” Sounded a merely audible answer, just before the lips which whispered it were stolen in another, this time deeper, kiss.

“Is the “Massage offer” still on?” Asked the younger anxiously as he was catching his breath afterwards.

“Of course. Though I can’t guarantee anymore it would be just for feet.” Winked the visitor promisingly.

“Shut up and get to work.” Muttered the other with played grumpiness to hide his growing embarrassment, as he lied down obediently on the crumpled sheets. In the meantime, the older had scrabbled his pockets, pulling out a small tube filled with transparent gel. He unscrewed the cover, pressed out a thin strand of pleasantly smelling balm, and started covering his hands with it before reaching out for once again icy legs.

“So it wasn’t an excuse, then?” wondered the younger curiously. The other laughed a little, otherwise ignoring the impudent comment.

“You still suffer from cold feet, eh?” Noted he instead, as the low body temperature of his partner’s feet moved to his own fingertips.

“Sorry.” Apologized the younger, as if it was his fault.

“Nonsense.” Whispered the other in disapproval to his guilt and kissed his partner’s toe to emphasize his words.

“Hey!” Hissed the younger again and wrenched. “Stop it! It’s gross!”

“I think it’s pretty hot, though.” Opposed the other playfully, as the younger hissed at the feeling of a second kiss landing on the other toe.

“You have a fetish on my toes or somethin’?” Complained the younger disgustedly as he rather looked away from his partner, who was licking his toes delicately.

“I have a fetish on your whole self, mate.” Confessed the older feverishly, before he lowered his lips to his partner’s feet again.

“Ok, ok. Then _stop_ doing what you do, please.” Begged the other sheepishly, trying hard to back out.

“Then tell me what I _ought to_ do.” Grinned his partner challengingly, looking up to the younger’s face. The younger pursed his lips, once again lost in his thoughts, but soon he decided not to think, but to act. He got up to a sitting position and reached out both of his hands to the back of his partner’s neck, drawing his face closer to his own and sealing their sudden intimacy with a tender kiss.

“Well, that was… unexpected, but enjoyable.” Commented the older defiantly, leaning forward in pleasant anticipation.

“Want more?” The younger’s hot breath tickled the other on the lips teasingly.

“You bet.” Sounded the little bit breathy answer, before being cut off by another craving kiss.

 

*** 

 

In the morning, he was woken up by an unpleasant coldness in his feet. Soon he figured out it was caused by a cold stream of air, flowing into the room from the opened window. Hmm. Opened window. …But who has opened it?

The memories of the last night burst out in his head like a storm. An awkward collage of images, feelings and sounds flood his brain like a tidal wave and made his cheeks turn red again. He looked at his side with anticipation. The only thing that awaited him was disappointment. The sheets were deserted. He let out a woeful sigh before lying on his stretched back again. It was all so awkward.

He pursed his lips in a grumpy grimace. He _hated_ that guy. Truly. If he could come to his room last night, _uninvited_ , and claimed some silly rights to his bed and him himself, then why _the hell_ couldn’t he at least stay ‘till the morning, brought him a breakfast or somethin’, and heated his _damned feet_? Did he want too much? Yeah, obviously, he did.

_Screw_ him.

Grouchy, he got up off the bed, leaving the sheets a complete mess without even noticing it. He shivered, as his bare legs touched the parquets. Cold feet on cold floor felt even colder. That really helped to get rid of irritation indeed.

As he paced to the bathroom to at least wash his face after a sleepless night, he realized he was gritting his teeth the whole time. After forcing his tightened jaw to relax, he could finally go on with his hygiene plan. He kicked out the bathroom door furiously, as if it was its fault, that he has woken up in an ice-cold bed, and without looking around he turned right to the washbasin. He turned on the water, covering his face with the cold stream right away. After having cleaned his face, he rested his palms on the sides of the basin, spine still a bit slouched, as the water droplets were dripping from his soaking wet hair on the shiny porcelain. He was a complete idiot for trusting that bastard once again. He was just playing around with him, as he was with everyone else. That shameless prick! He will _never_ forgive him again. _Ever!_

His clenched fist met the snow-white surface with a thud. His finger knuckles crackled in resistance. He was _pissed off_ like hell. Was he _insane_ to believe him? Was he so dumb to think he was _different_ than the others for that poof? That he was someone _special_ for him? Was he seriously so naïve, that he believed they would be “together forever” like in some stupid romantic movie?

Blast it.

He did. He did _freaking_ believe all this crap. Which is why he was now wondering, why isn’t he locked up in some asylum, tied down in a straitjacket.

He was just so _pathetic_. As if he hadn’t known, what a prick that person was! He was his team fellow since forever, yet he couldn’t (or maybe wouldn’t) see what was obvious.

That prick was attractive, that was clear. So there was no way he could be his “one and only” and the “love of his life” or whatever. He was probably just played and fooled around with. And on top of that was he so thick-headed not to realize it. Too dumb to figure out he was not nearly good enough for someone like that person.

His finger knuckles were almost white from the tight grip on the porcelain sink and were starting to hurt badly. He loosened the squeeze and inhaled as he realized he was even holding his breath.

“ _Calm down, calm down!_ ” He was repeating steadily to himself. And with this last thought, he finally raised his sight to the mirror above the sink. For a few long seconds, he was stuck motionless.

“I love you,” He gazed, dumbfounded, at a note written right onto the reflecting surface. “so do not frown the first thing in the morning.” Said the note, quickly scribbled on the mirror with something reddish, possibly a lipstick, boosted up by a big red heart in the right bottom corner.

“ _That is_ so _cheap_.” Repeated he in his head. Did that jerk really think he would be forgiven just because of this pathetic message? No way. Never. _Do not_ even _think about that!_ But as he read the note over and over, the corners of his lips started to twitch on their own and his eyebrows started to relax little by little, independent on his will. Pleasant feelings started flooding his body and his cheeks flushed again in the flashback of the night. That bastard _really_ knew him well. _Too_ well, unfortunately. He stopped resisting the urge to chuckle and let the childish sound out.

He was going to do it. Again; as if he wasn’t learning from his mistakes. He was gonna forgive him. He fought the urge, but it was too late. His heart was too soft. Or, more precisely, he couldn’t deny anything from that one special person. Be it as it was.

“I love you,” He read again, face reddened. “I love you,”.

That bloke was really an unreliable and completely irresponsible idiot. He was selfish, self-centred and egoistic. That jackass had no qualities except of his good looks and an undeniable talent for playing hockey. He was spoiled rotten, not willing to lift a finger for neither himself, nor the others. But when he thought about it, as humiliating as it was, these were most likely the reasons why he liked him so much. He was attracted to him because of his smug confidence and perky cheekiness. Because of his ignorance and greed. Because of these, and his gentle smile, that made his heart race so fast as nothing else in the world ever could.

“I love you.”

…

“Me too.”


End file.
